Dangerously Hot (A Hostile Operations Team Novel)(#4) Read online

  There was a hush and a murmur, and Kev realized that the waiters had set down their trays. That shouldn’t be odd, and yet…

  “Something’s happening,” he said, alarm churning through him.

  One of the waiters stood tall as the king passed. He cried out in sharp Arabic, opening his robes as he did so. The two bodyguards drew their weapons, but the man said something else and they dropped the guns to the floor and kicked them away. Two of the other waiters grabbed the guns.

  “What the fuck is happening?” Matt said over the comm.

  Kev couldn’t see the waiter’s face, only his back, but he didn’t like the way the man stood there so confident and sure. Dread crawled up Kev’s spine and settled at the base of his brain. “Not sure.”

  But Lucky’s face had drained of all color. Her voice was barely a whisper. “He’s wearing a bomb.”

  ***

  Fear ricocheted around Lucky’s belly, making her nauseous. The waiter—suicide bomber—stood there so erect and proud and fearless. Willing to die.

  A murmur rippled across the crowd. A woman screamed and then dropped in a faint. Many of the girls started to cry while others screamed and ran to their parents’ sides.

  Lucky focused again on the man she’d spotted right before the suicide bomber revealed himself. He stood with his arms around a woman and a girl—Lana, she was called. Lucky remembered because she’d been so gregarious. Not at all the sort of child you’d expect to belong to a madman.

  Lucky searched her brain for a name. She couldn’t think of the girl’s surname because Arab surnames were long and she’d been working on memorizing the girls’ given names first.

  The man’s face was hidden now as he stood with his arms around the woman and girl. He didn’t seem like a crazed terrorist. He seemed like a frightened spectator, same as the rest of the people in this room.

  Her heart thumped. She was wrong, and this man wasn’t the one. So where was he? Why couldn’t she find the man who’d tortured her, the man whose face should be seared into her brain no matter how briefly she’d seen it?

  Kev’s hand tightened on hers. He stood upright now, as did everyone else in the room. Another man in a waiter’s uniform spoke to the crowd, and Lucky whispered the words, hoping Kev—and the team—would hear them.

  “In the name of Allah the most mighty, the Freedom Force promises you will not be harmed if His Most Revered Highness, King Tariq bin Abdullah, accedes to our demands. If he does not, you will be executed one by one.”

  The king’s chin went up. He was resplendent in a dark thobe with ornate embroidery in golden thread running down the edges. He was also young, perhaps thirty or so, and handsome. His cheeks were slashed with red as he spoke.

  “My government does not bargain with terrorists,” he said in a clear voice.

  “As you wish.”

  A shot rang out and everyone jumped. A few people screamed. And then a man sank to the tiles, a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. A different waiter lowered a gun as a woman began to sob.

  “Jesus,” Kev said under his breath.

  “Your Excellency?” the first waiter asked again. The bomber stood by with a serene expression on his face, awaiting orders from the apparent leader.

  Lucky had no doubt he’d detonate the weapon if told to do so. Footage of the suicide bombings carried out by the Freedom Force played in her head, as well as her memories from the other day. So many people hurt. So many lives torn apart without remorse. And for what?

  She glanced at the man with Lana again. His head was still down, his face partly obscured. Dammit! She had to find him, or what was the use of her being here?

  “What do you want?” the king snapped.

  “You will come with us. Never fear. You are too valuable to be harmed.” The waiter let his gaze slide across the gathering. “These people, however, are not. Choose wisely, Your Excellency.”

  ***

  “I’ve got the shot,” Jack Hunter said softly from his hiding place in the dome that rose over the ballroom. There was a small gallery that ringed the dome, and he’d scaled the stairs double quick to make it up here after the team had split earlier. He didn’t have his spotter, but he didn’t need him for this close-proximity shot. “I can take the bomber out and the leader next.”

  “Negative, Hawk,” Matt said. “We have no idea how many of them there are. Or if there’s more than one bomb.”

  “We can’t let them take the king,” he ground out.

  “I know. But we still have no idea who Al Ahmad is, and if we blow this, we may never get another chance.”

  “Can you see Lucky and Big Mac?” Iceman’s voice.

  “Yeah,” Jack said. “They’re behind the bomber.”

  “Kev, you got anything?” Matt said. “If you can’t speak, signal.”

  Kev shook his head slightly.

  “That’s a negative,” Jack reported.

  “Sonofabitch.”

  Jack didn’t know who swore, but it was pretty much what they were all thinking. The fucking King of Qu’rim was about to be kidnapped by terrorists, and they still had no idea who Al Ahmad was. He had to be in the room—unless they’d been wrong about his daughter. What if it was all a smokescreen? What if they’d been led on a wild goose chase?

  He could be anywhere, laughing his ass off and planning what he was going to do with those weapons once he had them.

  Jack scanned the room. The man who’d been shot was definitely dead. A woman sobbed over his body, and a girl sat and rocked back and forth as if she were in her own world. Old sorrows threatened to break loose and overwhelm him, but he forced them down again. He had a job to do. He did not get emotional. Ever. He’d left emotion behind the day the Red Cross had called his commander and said they needed to speak with him.

  Loss. Jesus Christ.

  He sighted down the scope and watched the man who’d spoken to the king. He didn’t have any emotions either. The suicide bomber stood placidly by, also devoid of emotion.

  Jack couldn’t understand what was being said, but the king held up a hand to the men on either side of him and walked toward the terrorist leader.

  “Something’s happening,” Jack said.

  “Copy,” Matt replied.

  Jack knew he wasn’t the only one who could see what was happening in the ballroom, but he had the bird’s-eye view.

  The terrorist smiled at the king and said something. Then the two of them turned and walked toward a side door. Another terrorist went with them, but the bomber stayed behind. Jack counted eight men with weapons. Fucking waiters. It was the perfect way into the school. Obviously, the screening process for the caterer had been shit.

  Jack’s finger hovered over his trigger. He didn’t know what these assholes were going to do, but if they started shooting, he’d have a hell of a time getting them all before they took out at least a dozen innocent people. And that’s only if there were no other bombers in the group.

  Definitely a fucking nightmare.

  The gunmen barked orders at the crowd, and they all began to move toward the center, clustering together. The littlest girls cried and Jack gritted his teeth. Goddamn. He wanted to put a bullet in that asshole’s brain, but he couldn’t.

  Lucky and Kev moved into the crowd, but Jack was able to keep sight of them because Kev was one of the tallest men in the room. There was movement at the edge of the crowd, but Jack’s attention shifted because one of the gunmen said something that made Lucky stop and turn. Kev turned with her. The gunman motioned at them, separating them out. Jack wasn’t sure why, but then they were so clearly foreign in that crowd that it should be no surprise they were being singled out.

  And yet it made Jack’s gut tighten. The Freedom Force didn’t love foreigners. And they loved Americans least of all. Jack’s trigger finger itched, but he had too much training to let it tighten before it was time.

  “They’re pulling Kev and Lucky aside,” he said.

  “I know. Jesus. We
need that fucking ID, Big Mac,” Matt said. Kev shook his head again and Jack’s stomach sank.

  “She doesn’t know. We’re fucked.”

  There was silence for half a second. “Shit.” Matt huffed out a breath into the mic. “We aren’t losing our teammates while we wait for a fucking terrorist. We’re going in on my count…”

  Lucky stumbled at that moment and Kev righted her. She leaned into him, and then she was on her feet again while the gunman shouted and waved his weapon. But Kev looked up and nodded once, sharply.

  “She’s got him,” Jack said. “He’s there.”

  “Halle-fucking-lujah.”

  Jack’s heart pumped adrenaline into his veins. So fucking close now. “That’s all I’ve got.” He sighted the crowd, looking for an anomaly, a signal. This shit was getting out of hand. “I don’t know which one he is.”

  “Holy fuck,” Billy said. “I think I do.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Lucky’s stomach tightened into a knot. There was no doubt it was him. Lana’s father, the man who’d hugged a woman and child to comfort them when he knew damn well what was happening, was Al Ahmad.

  This was the man who’d tortured her. Who’d made her believe she was a piece of garbage and that she was going to die. The man who’d carved her flesh because it had amused him to do so.

  He stared at her across the open space between them. She wondered that he didn’t make a move since he had to be surprised to see them, but then she realized that whoever he was in his formal robes, that was his real persona. And he couldn’t appear as anyone different in front of the families whose daughters went to the same school as his child. Even if he planned to kill them all, he would not break his cover to do it.

  The man who’d separated Kev and Lucky called an order to one of his men. That man went over and put a gun to Al Ahmad’s head. His eyes glittered, but they did not leave her face. He wasn’t frightened.

  Nor should he be. This was all part of the plan.

  The terrorists took some of the other men aside too, no doubt to demand ransoms from their families. These were the wealthiest and most connected of Baq society, and it would be a wasted opportunity not to use them to enrich the Freedom Force’s purse.

  Not that any of it mattered now that they had the king. He’d departed through a side door with two of the terrorists, and God only knew where he was now. They would use him, and they would kill him. That much she knew.

  Lucky’s heart hammered as Al Ahmad crossed the room under his guard’s direction. Those eyes filled her with terror. And rage. He’d kept her captive, poisoned her mind, cut her skin again and again—tiny, painful cuts that had bled and scarred—and threatened her with sexual violence.

  She hated him.

  And if she was going to die anyway, she was determined she wasn’t going to die alone. She would take him with her one way or the other.

  He came closer and she tensed. Beside her, Kev kept a firm grip on her hand. She’d said she’d found their man but she hadn’t been able to point him out.

  Yet Kev knew. How could he not? The way Al Ahmad stared at her, that unholy gleam in his gaze, his steps measured and sure as he strode toward her.

  “Lucky,” Kev growled under his breath. A warning, and yet she no longer cared.

  “We meet again, Lucky Reid,” Al Ahmad said quietly as he stopped in front of her. The man behind him held a gun on him, but it was only for show. His gaze flicked to Kev, and her heart rate notched up. “And this is the famous Mr. MacDonald, I assume? When Lana told me there was a new teacher in school, I admit I was curious. Especially since I’d seen someone who looked remarkably like you on news footage of the bombing near the embassy.”

  Lucky’s insides turned liquid. But then anger scorched through her as she thought of what he’d done to those people. Of how evil and unfeeling he was.

  “You aren’t going to get away with this,” she spat.

  One eyebrow arched. “Am I not? I have the King of Qu’rim. Even now, he is issuing the order for the army to stand down at the mine. The uranium will belong to us in precisely fifteen minutes.” His gaze flicked to Kev again, who had yet to say a word. He spoke in English. “There is an American military team waiting for the order to kill me, I assume? I would advise that this is not a good idea.”

  One of the men put a gun to Kev’s head then, and Lucky couldn’t stop the gasp that burst from her. Please God, no. Don’t let this happen. Don’t let them kill him too.

  “If you think killing me will stop them, you’re mistaken.” Kev’s voice was full of menace, and Lucky almost recoiled from the barely leashed violence in his tone. But that’s what he did. What they all did. You couldn’t deal with a man like Al Ahmad by being soft. You couldn’t plead. It wouldn’t do you any good.

  “I don’t think that at all,” Al Ahmad said. “But I think so long as I threaten to kill you, it will give them pause.”

  “Don’t bet on it.”

  Al Ahmad snapped his fingers then. The suicide bomber was still in the room, and he walked over to the crowd of women and children, who’d been made to stand with their faces to the wall. The men had been taken from the room, and only the women were left. No one could see that this man was in control.

  “But you Americans don’t like it when women and children die, do you?”

  Horror crawled up Lucky’s spine. “Your daughter’s in that crowd. If you kill them, you kill her too.”

  His black gaze flickered with a real regret that almost made her feel sorry for him. But then it was gone and the monster stood there once more. Maybe he was bluffing, but she sensed he would do whatever it took to achieve his aims in the end. “We must all make sacrifices for the greater good.”

  Kev’s jaw ground together. “They’re standing down. There’s no need to kill anyone.”

  Al Ahmad lifted an eyebrow. “Ah, yes, you are communicating with them. I admit I was quite angry to see the two of you here when you should have been waiting for me at the warehouse. But one cannot always count on the help to be as thorough as one would like. Perhaps I should have sent more men to deal with you.” He sighed as if he were discussing a party gone awry rather than a kidnapping. “You will hand over all devices—and your weapons—before we leave this building, or I will give the order for the bomb to be detonated. Once more, it is your choice.”

  Kev slowly slid the guns from their holsters and handed them over. Then he removed the tiny earpiece that was nearly undetectable and the microphone from beneath his lapel. He dropped them into the gunman’s hand.

  “And the tracking device.”

  Kev reached into his pocket and took out the small disc that was just like the one she had in her bra, as well as his phone. The gunman snatched it all away and then dropped everything on the floor and stomped on them. The weapons he tucked into his robes.

  “And you, Lucky Reid.”

  She lifted her chin. She thought about lying but she wouldn’t take that chance. The Freedom Force wasn’t completely unsophisticated, and they might have scanners that would detect the GPS device if she lied. She would not be responsible for this madman blowing up a roomful of women and children that included his daughter and wife. “I only have a phone and a tracking device. It’s in my undergarments.”

  “Then you will remove it.”

  “Not with your men watching.”

  “I care not about your modesty. The device.”

  Lucky growled as she reached into the neckline of the abaya and fished downward toward her bra. Somehow, she got her fingers on the disc and worked it free. Then she dropped it on the ground rather than hand it to the man whose hand was outstretched. Al Ahmad lifted his expensively shod foot and stomped on it.

  “And the phone?”

  She fished it from the pocket in her abaya and dropped it. He stomped on that too.

  His smile made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. “And now we are leaving.”

  They’d only taken three steps tow
ard the same exit the king had left from when an explosion rocked the building. Plaster fell from the ceiling, and the light fixtures rattled and clinked. Lucky jerked her head around to see if the suicide bomber had detonated his bomb, but he wasn’t where he’d been.

  He was on the ground, a pool of blood forming around his body. Before she could puzzle out what was happening, a shot rang out and Kev dropped to the ground. Lucky screamed.

  ***

  Abdul Halim wrapped an arm around Lucky Reid’s neck. He wanted to squeeze the life from her body then and there, but that would not be prudent. Instead, he drew his knife and jabbed it into her ribs. The sharp point just penetrated the silk of her abaya, and she stiffened as the cool metal met her soft flesh. Her lush body pressed up against his, reminding him of his sexual needs earlier tonight.

  Perhaps now he could indulge both desires at once: sex and pain. Even better.

  He shoved her through the exit and into a corridor. One of his men was waiting.

  “We’re under attack,” Abdul Halim barked. “Go!”

  The man led the way outside and into the waiting car. Abdul Halim shoved Lucky inside and climbed in after her. She’d turned her body and met him with a swift kick to his thigh. He yowled in pain and lunged for her. She kicked again and again, but he managed to wrap a hand in her hijab and catch her hair as well. Then he shoved the knife against her throat and lay on top of her in the back seat of the car as it sped away from the school, his body hardening with excitement and exhilaration.

  “I will kill you.”

  “I don’t care!” she screamed. “You killed Kevin! You killed all those people! You would have murdered your own daughter!”

  He felt no remorse at that accusation. He would have sacrificed Lana and Fatima if necessary. But there was no need.

  It had not quite gone as he’d intended. His people were supposed to capture Lucky and her military watchdog. They were supposed to draw the Americans away from the school. The last report he’d had, they had taken their target.